


Local Gay Alien Gets Dicked Down Good by Human Scientist

by BWaves



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Character(s), Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Dehumanization, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle isn’t important tho, heat - Freeform, its just sort of mentioned off handedly but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-11 11:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19108558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWaves/pseuds/BWaves
Summary: Finding himself stranded on a strange planet certainly wasn’t great, and quite frankly, it hadn’t gotten any better. When he was found by the inhabitants, ‘humans’ he’s heard them call themselves, he thought it would be okay. They took him out of the cold, and they warmed him up, they gave him a bed, and they patched up his leg, or where it used to be. They found food he could eat, and they fed him, and they put him in a room where he was safe from their strange weather and frozen rain, and he was okay.The okay didn’t last, however.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck it, self-indulgent alien heat sex, here we come, bitches.

Finding himself stranded on a strange planet certainly wasn’t great, and quite frankly, it hadn’t gotten any better. When he was found by the inhabitants, ‘humans’ he’s heard them call themselves, he thought it would be okay. They took him out of the cold, and they warmed him up, they gave him a bed, and they patched up his leg, or where it used to be. They found food he could eat, and they fed him, and they put him in a room where he was safe from their strange weather and frozen rain, and he was okay.

The okay didn’t last, however. After a while they started poking and prodding at him, drawing the blood from his veins, and filling him with pills and injections purely to see what they do. They found one that would paralyze him, and they used it over and over again to keep him still as they did whatever they wanted to him.

He was familiar with their methods, he’d employed many of the same back home, where he’s praised for his research.

He isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to do his work again, when he gets home.

If he ever gets home.

One of the scientists, a young man with short, dark hair, is a frequent face he sees. He’s always there, guiding the needles into Artonia’s skin, digging in deeper to pierce his bones, standing above him as they pierce Artonia’s stomach with their knives and poke and prod at his precious internal organs. They never found a way to knock him out completely, but with the paralytic in his blood he can’t even move enough to scream in pain when they take samples from his insides.

Artonia doesn’t like him. He was complacent for the longest time, allowing the humans to do what they will, in hopes they would find whatever it is they’re searching for and then leave him be, or kill him. He would really take either option at this point. Anything to end the suffering.

On a surprisingly quiet day, his worst fear comes to fruition. It starts as an ache in his chest, then his abdomen, then the room feels too hot and Artonia’s skin feels like it’s on fire. The door to the outer part of his prison opens, and he immediately recoils, terrified of what they’ll do to him once they realize what he’s feeling.

The door closes, and the light turn on, and Artonia initially flinches, but the lights are quickly dimmed.

“Sorry,” a voice says softly from across the room, and Artonia cracks his eyes open to look and see who it is. It’s one of the scientists, however it isn’t the one he’s so used to seeing, it’s someone else, one of the others. Art’s seen him, a few times, but never up close, he’s always standing in the back scribbling on a clipboard. “I had a feeling something like this was gonna happen,” the man on the other side of the glass wall says with this soft, fond, huff, pressing a palm against the wall, “You’re in, like, heat, right?” He smiles, and Art curls against the wall a bit more. “I know you can understand me.”

His eyes narrow, and his fingers curl in the front of the soft white shirt they make him wear, “I am heralded as one of the smartest of my generation,” Art explains, eyes drifting to the floor, “The language you speak is difficult, but not too difficult for me.” There’s a laugh, and Art’s eyes dart up to the man on the other side of the glass, who just tips his head to the side a bit, and runs his fingers through his own hair. Artonia finds himself leaning forward, drawn to the other, just a bit. It’s just his body talking, though.

If he were really in control of himself he’d never let one of these humans touch him again.

“You are here alone,” he starts, fingers curling tighter, before letting go to flick his long, black hair out of his face when it falls over his shoulder, “you are not here to poke and prod at me with your tools, so I ask, what are you here for?” The human averts his gaze, eyes drifting to the side, and his cheeks tinting pink from the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“I, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, nervous, “I couldn’t resist the smell.” He sounds bashful, which is odd, to Art, but then again, these creatures are so different from his own kind. “No one else has figured out it’s you, yet.” He turns around, and walks back over to the door, locking it, which sets off red flags in Artonia’s head and he pushes to stand, stomping up to the glass.

“I will now allow you to use me for your sick pleasure, human. No matter how desperately my body may react, if you touch me I swear to every force on this forsaken planet that I will rip your eyes from their sockets and force feed them to you.” He’s growling lowly as he talks, and he notices how the human stays back, hands raising in a placating gesture as he steps forward, pulling a chair up to the glass and sitting. He sheds his white coat, and he crosses his arms.

“I’m not gonna touch you.” He digs a device, a phone, Art has learned, out of his pocket, and he starts tapping at the screen. “Especially not since you’ve pretty much nailed threats, how’d you manage that one?” He’s smiling as he looks up again, and it’s disarming enough that Art’s shoulders slump.

He steps back again, and sits on the edge of his bed, watching the human before a sharp, stabbing pain causes him to curl in on himself, crying out. There’s a noise, and Art looks up to see the other has stood, and he shoves himself back against the wall, panting hard as the pain seems to echo through his lower abdomen. He feels a gush of fluid from his entrance and he curses loudly.

It’s because that damn human is here. “Shit, are you okay?” 

“Fine!” Art barks, shaking his head when the human reaches for the door, “Stop! Don’t fucking touch me!” The hand retreats and those hands are up again, placating, trying to show him exactly where they are so that Artonia knows he isn’t reaching for the door. 

“Are you sure you don’t want some help? I can help without,” he gestures vaguely in the direction of Artonia’s lap, and then shrugs, “y’know, violating you, or whatever.”

“No!” He shakes his head, and then another pulse hits and this time the sound that leaves him is very distinctly a moan. Desperate, and open, and he can feel his body reacting just because someone is in the room with him. “Please,” he gasps, “d-don’t open the door.” He doesn’t know what’s going to happen when his hyper sensitive nose gets a whiff of the other. “Just, talk to me.” Art pushes himself back into the corner, and he swallows, to try and force himself to breathe normally.

The man on the other side hesitates, but then he nods, and he steps back, sitting on the chair again. “My name’s Derek.”

Art watches him, but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re listed as A1, but, I wanted to know what your real name was. Even if I can’t pronounce it.” There’s this… Smile, this look to him, this genuine curiosity, and Art feels himself relax, just a bit.

He looks down at his hands, and he forces himself to breathe evenly. It’s been so long since someone has asked his name, it actually takes him a moment to say it himself. “Artonia.”

“Artonia,” Derek repeats, smiling, and resting his chin on his hands, “that’s cool, sounds… Almost Italian, I wanna say. Ya know, like, Artonia,” he says his name again, this time with some accent and his hand waving back and forth, fingers pinched together at the tips. Art tilts his head, confused. “Yeah, you, probably don’t even know what that means. It’s okay. Can I call you Art?”

Derek’s smile is extremely disarming, and Artonia relaxes a bit more, slowly nodding in approval to the nickname. It’s actually a common one for him. Also, he’s learned in this language what exactly ‘art’ is, and he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“So how old are you?” Derek asks, leaning back in his chair. Art doesn’t know how to answer that one, but he does his best. Derek asks him more questions and he answers them for as long as he can before his head is just too foggy with hormones to get out a straight answer.

Derek ends up leaving when Art starts to strip, despite Artonia’s protests to the loss of his company.

A couple hours later, when some of the others come in to check his status, he’s barely keeping it together, he’s on the floor, because it’s the only thing in this room that can cool his feverish skin, naked and dripping as his body just begs for attention.

They think he’s sick, they give him an injection, redress him, and talk softly among themselves on the other side of the glass, all eyes on him. He isn’t sure why the attention just spurs him on, and leaves him writhing on the floor whimpering for attention.

When the lights go out, he climbs back onto his bed, shoving off the replacement clothes they put him in, and dragging his fingers over the slit between his legs. He flinches, even at the simple contact, and he smears the fluid that has dripped out of him over his fingers so that he can shove two of them into his dripping hole.

He fucks himself on his fingers until he comes with a cry, and it’s enough to sate him for the night, so that he can sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning he’s dizzier than ever, heat coursing through his body in full force, by this point. Derek is already there, sitting in his chair on the other side of the room, and watching over him, a look between concern and something Artonia can’t distinguish on his face as he watches the alien writhe. 

He’s going to give in, though. He’s going to let this damn human into his space, inside him, just because his body is near bursting with the eager need for the human’s touch. Last night when they had come into the room, Artonia had nearly choked on the smell of them, all of their hormones, all their scents, in his room all at once with no filter. He’d barely restrained himself, and it wasn’t as bad last night as it is now.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in there?” Derek asks, still concerned, and Art lets out a strained scream in answer. “I… Honestly don’t know if that’s supposed to be a yes or a no.” He leans forward in his chair, pressing his palm against the glass, “I can give you something for the pain, something to calm you down, we’re bound to have something around here that affects you that way, right?”

Art shakes his head violently, and he shoves his hand in his pants again, crying out in pleasure as he sinks his fingers right back into his slick hole again.

“Your pants are soaked,” Derek says, casually, forcibly casual. There’s a strain in his voice and he swallows hard, “Should I leave?” Art shakes his head again, and throws his head back as he shoves his fingers in to the hilt.

“Derek!” That gets a reaction for sure, the human leans forward a bit, crossing his legs and coughing, Art watches him as he thrusts his fingers inside himself, moaning for the friction, and the fullness, but it isn’t enough. Fuck it’s not enough. “Please,” he groans, shoving the soaked, white pants off and spreading his legs to display himself to his audience.

Derek averts his eyes and he coughs again, pressing his palm over his face, and shaking his head, “You told me not to! You threatened to make me eat my eyes if I touched you!”

“Get in here!” Artonia barks, and trembles as another hefty glob of slick dribbles from his entrance, “Please! Need more!”

“I- I can get you something! I can get you something to use!” Derek declares, and he hurries to his feet, rushing out of the room, and slamming the door behind him. Art’s head falls back and he screams at the ceiling.

He doesn’t know how long he’s left there, fucking himself until the bed beneath him is soaked,and his entire hand is wet, but it feels like eons before the door opens again, and Derek slips inside once more, bag in hand.

Art’s hand stills, and he slumps on the bed, whining softly at the pain that courses through him. His shoulder hurts, his wrist hurts, his hole hurts, and he can’t move to say anything when Derek opens the door to his little glass cell.

The human stops, stumbling back as he’s hit full force by the scent, the humidity, the pure, unfiltered sounds of Artonia’s needy whimpers. He doesn’t back down, though, he closes the door behind him and steps closer, digging into the bag and pulling out what Artonia can tell is a plastic replica of human male genitalia.

“Here.” Derek breaks into the packaging with his teeth, and pulls out the toy, then pulls a bottle out of the bag and sprays the toy down, drops the bottle, runs it under the tap from the sink in Art’s cell and then offers the toy to the alien. “Use this.”

It’s too much, really. The closeness, the sound of his voice, the obvious tent in his pants, how is Artonia supposed to keep his head on straight like this?

He whimpers when he feels pressure under his hand, and he slumps on the bed, moving his hand to give his cock room to press out of the slit above his entrance. He moans weakly as it curls around a finger, but he doesn’t miss how hard Derek swallows. 

Art reaches up, grabbing Derek’s wrist, of the hand that is holding the toy, and he pulls gently as he lays down. “Please,” he murmurs, and Derek shakes his head, and starts to protest, “I know! I know what I said, I know I told you not to to-touch me, but I need, something. Anything. Please.”

Derek watches him for a long moment, eyes stubbornly staying on his face, though Art is sure he is straining to keep them there. “Please,” he whispers, pulling on his wrist again until the tip of the toy is just barely brushing against the underside of his dick, “Please, Derek.”

He’s the only one in this building who hasn’t gone out of their way to hurt him, or suggest new ideas of things to do to him. The only one here who has taken the time to just sit, and talk to him. Even if Art never sees him again, Derek is the only one he knows of right now who didn’t immediately seek to use and experiment on him. 

This could backfire so horribly. 

“Okay,” Derek breathes, and he gently unfurls Artonia’s fingers from his wrist, “but we’re doing it my way, I’m not about to let you mindlessly fuck yourself on this thing and get hurt, alright?”

Art just groans in answer, and pulls his fingers out of his hole, spreading himself open for the other with his fingers and murmuring little pleas. Derek leans over him and takes his other hand, guiding it to his knee to hold his leg out of the way. Derek takes the other, pressing gently against the prosthetic leg they gave him to keep it held up as Art’s finger curl around the slick tentacle and start stroking. 

“Okay,” Derek says softly, taking a deep breath as he lowers to his knees, so that he’s much more on Artonia’s level, “just gonna, fuck an alien. With a dildo. Gonna our a dildo in the alien. The one that I was told to be careful with. Just, gonna, break a rule that didn’t even have to be said,” he shakes his head and he lines up the dildo, smearing the tip over Artonia’s entrance to get it nice and slick, “don’t fuck the alien, kinds goes without saying,” he mumbles, shaking his head again, “about to be the first one to-“

“Fuck you! Just fuck me!” Art yells, grabbing the base of the toy and plunging it into himself so hard, and so suddenly, that his back arches and he screams in something that leans just a bit more pleasure than pain.

Derek, despite wanting to freak out, focuses, and grabs Art’s hand when he grabs on to try and pull the toy out with just as much fervor as he’d shoved it in. “If you pull it out just as quick you’re gonna hurt yourself, what did I just fucking say about doing this at my pace?”

“You were taking too long! Fuck!” His head falls back and Artonia turns his hand around to grab onto Derek’s instead of the toy, “It is big! And hard, why is it so hard! You humans have strange anatomy, this hurts!”

“Well the real thing’s not nearly as hard, this is fake, remember?”

“Then give me the real thing!” Art hell’s, grabbing the toy again and pulling it out, slower than Derek is expecting him to, actually, and he drops it on the floor, “I want pleasure, not pain, I want to be fucked and filled and marked,” he gasps, grip tightening on his tentacle dick, “Please!”

Fuck his head is so hazy. He’s in so much pain from so much pent up frustration and arousal and need, if he doesn’t get what he wants he might have to take it.

Derek is still hesitant, though, and Art finally gives in, crying out in frustration and shoving off the bed to tackle Derek to the ground. Derek grabs onto Art’s hips when he’s pinned, and he throws his head back as those hips start to roll, Art grinding down against the hard lump he can feel through Derek’s pants.

“Please,” he gasps, grabbing and pulling at Derek’s clothes, but they prove to be much more difficult to remove when his head is so mixed up. “I want, I need, I need, I need.” Derek’s grip on his hips tightens, and Artonia watches his face twist, before he finally gives in. He grabs Art, flips them effortlessly, and slams Art into the ground. 

“Fuck, just hang on a second,” he undoes his belt so fast Artonia can’t keep up with his fingers, he shoves his pants and boxers down, and he strokes his cock only twice before he lines up, and plows into Art like he’s trying to break through into his organ cavity. 

Art howls, back arched as he takes in the full length of him. Derek is much bigger than the toy, but he is also much more forgiving as far as friction goes. It’s a much tighter fit, but it’s smoother.

Art trembles, and his fingers scramble at Derek’s clothes for a moment before finding purchase, and he’s gripping so tightly to his shirt that his knuckles turn white.

Derek grabs his knees, and shoves them against his chest, folding Artonia in half and the pace he picks up is immediately fast, and hard, and Art loves every moment of it. 

He grabs on tightly to Derek as every slam of his hips against Art’s thighs punches a pleasure cry out of him, the human curses above him, moaning in turn and shifting the position of his legs to get a better stance to hit him deeper, and faster. Artonia is merely a toy for his assault, and his head and body are both so lit up from the pleasure that’s coursing through him that he doesn’t have the capacity to process that it’s different than how his kind do it. 

Derek grabs Artonia and flips him over, gripping him in a way so that he can turn him, and lean him over the bed. He grabs a fistful if that long black hair and he keeps fucking him, a brutal pace, but Art seems to be loving it, especially when Derek pulls his hair hard enough that he’s forced to moan and scream openly for him. 

Art’s cries form words, or at least attempt to, begging for more, for Derek to fill him, mark him, breed him! He’s never had his hair pulled during sex before, but fuck if he doesn’t love it, he tips his head forward just to get more, and he slaps his hands against the wall to push back against the onslaught of Derek’s cock in his hole. 

He loses track of how long it goes on. He feels Derek slow, at one point, and rest his head between his shoulder blades, and he feels him stutter to a stop not long after, but he doesn’t stop. He takes a bit, breathes, recuperates, and starts again, fucking his seed into Art as he works to fill him again. 

Art is a shaking, drooling, panting mess by the time Derek pulls out, and flops to lay down on the floor, declaring “That’s it, that’s all I got in me.” Artonia’s too busy trembling as his slick soaked thighs start to cool from the air in the room. 

Derek recovers much faster, his breathing is still pretty hard, but it doesn’t take long before he’s fixing his clothing, making sure he’s presentable and leaving. And if Artonia were home, safe in his room with whatever partner his heat had lead him to, he wouldn’t mind being left a mess, but seeing as he’s on display in this room, he does mind, and he grunts softly at Derek as he’s leaving the glass room.

Derek looks back, and smiles, and he closes the door behind him. The outer door opens, and there stands the dark haired scientist, whose name Art hasn’t cared to try remembering.

Derek smiles, shakes his hand and wipes his brow, puffing out an exaggerated sigh, “Definitely affected my stamina. Whatever hormones he’s letting off in waves is extremely effective against us, I gave him four rounds and I had to stop, but, honestly, I could probably go another two or three before I really have to.”

Art closes his eyes and he turns his face down into the bed, slumping into the cushion, and releasing whatever tension was left in his body. Giving in to his body’s cries for rest. 

Of course it’s not that easy.

“Interesting. We’ll do a few more tests.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading lol. If you comment I might write more about this lovely alien boy ;) maybe in the future I’ll write about him with an actual love interest who will fuck him lovingly, and not just for science.


End file.
